Flirtinis with Flappers (21 page)

"And, um, you don't expect me to carry you the whole way, do you?" he asked hesitantly.

I frowned. Wow. Some romance hero he was turning out to be.

"I mean, it's seven blocks," he said apologetically.

I rolled my eyes. Seven blocks? Please. Would Sir Lancelot not have carried fair Guinevere over hill and dale? Would brave Paris not carry fair Helen across the very sea? And here I had this poor slob masquerading as my hero objecting to carrying me seven blocks.

Romance was truly dead.

"Fine, whatever," I muttered, climbing down from his arms and planting my feet back on the ground. Wow. My knees felt kind of wobbly. "These shoes were made for walkin'."

Nick shot me a confused look, and I realized my mistake. Misquoting Nancy Sinatra was probably not the best way to stay in character.

Luckily, a sudden clattering in the bushes prevented any potential interrogation. Nick shot me a look and put a finger to his mouth. He pulled out a gun from inside his jacket and motioned for me to get behind him. Wow, he had an actual gun? Did twenty-first-century city boy even know how to use one of those?

"Is someone there?" he called out. "Show yourself."

He headed over to the bushes and scanned them closely. I waited under the street lamp, realizing I was a sitting duck. Was someone following us? Maybe Tommy the bouncer wasn't so stupid after all. Or maybe McGurn hired someone to trail me.

Nick returned to my side, shrugging his shoulders. "Probably just a cat," he said, though his voice told me he didn't buy the feline theory for a second. "Nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" I asked. The last thing I needed was to have some stoolie go back to McGurn and tell him I went home with another guy. And not just any other guy—one of his own men. Sure,
he
was sleeping with everyone under the sun, but I didn't believe for one second he'd be cool with his girlfriend doing the same.

"Yeah. But let's get you to my place quick," Nick said, putting an arm around my shoulders and hustling me down the street. "Just in case."

"Okay," I said, still a bit shaken. I'd already seen McGurn order the execution of a boxer who didn't go down in a fight. I couldn't imagine the death sentence Nick and I would face if we were caught. Was this really worth it? Was there another way to get Nick to go along with my plan? One that didn't involve betraying an infamous twentieth-century mobster? One that didn't involve the possibility of a very painful death?

I shook my head. It was too late now. I had to go through with this.

The sun had set, and we walked in twilight down the snow-lined street. An eerie quiet settled over us. Even the honking of horns and police sirens faded into the distance. I glanced over at Nick. He looked uneasy. Uncomfortable. I wondered what was going on in his head and whether or not I should ask him about it.

We arrived at his apartment five minutes later. He lived in a four-story, crumbling brick building that had definitely seen better days. Guess being a mob henchman was on par with being a mob girlfriend, digs-wise.

He led me down a cobblestone walkway and held open the door for me. I stepped inside the lobby. Like with Daisy's building, there was a sitting area where several residents were lounging and smoking. They all waved to Nick as we walked by, a couple of the older men not-so-subtly winking at him, as if to congratulate him on his prize—aka, me.

Of course, I felt more a booby prize when I managed to trip over a toy that someone's little brat had left on the floor. I went sprawling forward, grabbing onto anything that would break my fall. Unfortunately, this turned out to be a table with a colorful bouquet of geraniums sitting on top. The flowers, water, and vase all went tumbling to the ground with me.

Now I had everyone's attention.

"I'm all right." I waved to them, scrambling back to my feet and grabbing handfuls of flowers to stuff back into the vase. "Nothing to see here."

Nick shook his head and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, leading me up the stairs again. This time I managed to make it to the top, though I did trip on the rug in the hallway. But to be fair, who puts a rug in a hallway?

"God, you're drunk," Nick remarked as he put his key in the lock and pushed open his door.

"I'm fine! I'm not drunk!" I protested, not sure why I felt the need to defend my blood-alcohol content.

"Mm-hm."

We stepped inside his apartment, and I scanned the room. Typical bachelor pad. Sparse and utilitarian. Probably Sam's style. Nick was way more into his creature comforts. Even in Iraq, he'd managed to make his hotel room look cozy and inviting.

He led me over to a stuffy maroon couch and sat me down. Then he sat down beside me, way too far away for my liking.

Speaking of cozy—or technically not so cozy. I glanced over at the guy who was supposed to be jumping my bones right about now. Instead, he was literally twiddling his thumbs, staring down at them with an intensity that made me wonder what he was thinking.

Well, fine. I obviously needed to be the one to get this show on the road. I crawled across the couch and climbed on top of him. My dress was riding above my knees. Then I leaned in to kiss him.

His lips were stiff and resisting. I pressed harder.

I felt his hands around my shoulders, pushing me aside. He stood up. I stared at him.

"What is wrong with you?" I demanded. This scene of seduction was not going as well as I'd hoped, and I had no idea why.

He sighed. "Do you want a drink?"

"Shoore, I'll take a mint julep," I agreed.

"I was thinking more like a black coffee."

"Oh." I sighed. He certainly was being a spoil-sport. "Yeah. Whatever."

He disappeared into what I assumed was the kitchen and pulled the door shut behind him. I kicked off my boots and pulled my feet onto the couch, trying to get comfy. What was wrong with him? The guy was all hot to jump me the other day, and now he was being a total prude. Stupid Nick. What, did he all of a sudden develop a conscience or something?

"I can't do it."

Nick's voice in the kitchen made me pause. Who was he talking to? I crawled off the couch and, after steadying myself from the spins, crept toward the kitchen to see if I could hear more.

"She's too drunk. I'm not going to take advantage of her in this state. I don't do that."

Take advantage of me? What was going on here? Was he on the phone? Or was there someone in the kitchen? Was there a simple explanation for this, or some X-Files-size conspiracy that I didn't know about?

I leaned on the kitchen door, propping it open just a crack. I peered inside. It was a tiny kitchen with a large stove taking up most of the space.

Nick wasn't on the phone. But there was no one in the room either. In fact, it appeared as if he was talking to himself. Weird. What was up with that?

"I'm sorry, but you'll just have to wait. If I'm going to seduce a girl, she's going to be sober enough to make her own decision. I won't take advantage of her."

Well, that was very knight in shining armor-ish to say. But I still felt like I had vacuumed up a big piece of the puzzle here. Had someone told him to seduce Louise? Was that why he'd been following me around, always trying to hook up? I had assumed he just liked the girl. Maybe there was something much more nefarious going on.

I leaned in further, hoping to catch more of the conversation. Unfortunately, I leaned a bit too far, and my weight caused the door to swing wide open and for me to fall through into the kitchen. My palms hit the tile floor, and my knee banged against a cabinet.

"Ow!" I cried, both in pain and embarrassment. I really was a terrible spy.

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Um, are you okay?" he asked, leaning over to pull me up by the arm. I knew I was probably blushing a deep shade of purple as I nodded in the affirmative.

"Come on. Let's get you in bed," he said, leading me back into the living room and through a set of French doors that opened into a cozy bedroom with a double bed. He pulled down the duvet and sheets and patted the mattress.

"Stay here, my little drunk princess," he said. "I'll get that coffee."

I snuggled under the blankets as he headed back to the kitchen. Maybe he was right. Maybe I wasn't in good enough shape to engage in sexual relations with the guy my ex-boyfriend had body snatched. Especially if said ex-boyfriend was on some kind of counter-mission that involved seducing the girl I had body snatched. I needed more information. To find out what Nick was up to. The FBI thought it was just waking up Bugs on time. But what if they were misinformed? What if there was more to the Time Warriors' plans?

It was all so frustrating. To be here, in Louise's body. To have Nick so close and yet so far. I wished I could just tell him the truth. Tell him who I was and why I was there. Find out the whole story on the Time Warriors and impress upon him the importance of not changing history.

Would he listen to me if he found out I was really Dora? Or would he become more determined than ever to accomplish his mission?

"Here you go," Nick said, entering the room with a tray with two steaming mugs. "Wasn't sure if you liked cream in it or not."

"Black, thanks," I said, sitting up to take the cup of java off the tray. It smelled delicious.

Nick set the tray on the nightstand and crawled into bed beside me, angling his body so he was facing me. "You okay?" he asked in a gentle voice after I'd taken a sip.

"Yeah," I said gratefully. "Sorry about before. One too many gins, I guess."

"One too many? Seven too many." Nick grinned and reached over to brush a lock of hair out of my eyes.

"Yeah, yeah."

"You're cute. You know that?" he asked softly. "Such a little spitfire. You totally remind me of someone."

I almost choked on my coffee. "I do?" I asked, trying to will my voice to remain calm. "Who?"

Nick raked a hand through his hair. "Uh, no one, really. Well, my ex-girlfriend," he said, his face reddening.

Heh. I reminded him of his ex-girlfriend. Funny that.

"Oh, the uptight chick?" I asked, taking another sip of coffee. "What's her story?"

"Heh." Nick laughed. "I shouldn't have called her uptight. She was just…focused. Driven, I guess you could say." He sighed and rolled over onto his back so he was staring up at the ceiling. "I met her over in Ira—uh, France," he said, catching himself just in time. "During the war."

I leaned over on my side, propping my head up with my arm. So he was going to try to retell our story as if it happened during World War I. Fascinating. I couldn't wait to hear his version.

"Ah, so were you a soldier?" I asked, all wide-eyed and innocent and oh-so-ready to play along. "In the Great War?"

"A journalist, actually. Foreign correspondent."

"And she was…?"

"Also a journalist."

"Really? Huh. I didn't realize women could be journalists." Heh. I was so going to give him a hard time. Watch him squirm.

"I mean, she was a nurse," Nick corrected, his face turning bright red. "But she was kind of an unofficial journalist. She wrote letters home. And they were, uh, published in her hometown paper."

"I see." I nodded. "A letter-writing nurse. Gotcha."

"Yeah. She was great," he said, ignoring my sarcasm. "Full of passion and enthusiasm. So ambitious. Risking her life, always going after the—uh, really sick patients."

I stifled a giggle. "Liked danger, did she?"

"Well, she wanted to prove herself, I think. Which was silly, 'cause she was amazing, and everyone knew it. Especially me."

Amazing. He had thought I was
amazing.
I frowned.
So
what happened, buddy?
I wanted to ask.
Did the amazingness wear off? Was the
Iraqi chick you dumped me for even more amazing?

"I thought you said she was uptight and high-strung. Those don't seem like very amazing qualities to me."

He chuckled ruefully. "I told you, I shouldn't have said that," he amended. "She could be…overly serious at times. She was so driven. So determined to prove herself. Her ambition robbed her of some of the joy she could have otherwise been experiencing in life. Sure, things in France…weren't all sunshine and roses. The situation was at best bleak. But if you didn't seek out the moments of joy, the blackness could swallow you. I'd seen it happen to many good, uh, nurses. And I didn't want it to happen to her. I wanted to protect her innocence and give her some small peace in her heart." He swallowed hard. "She was so beautiful when she laughed. I wanted to find a way to keep her laughing forever."

My heart throbbed in my chest, and tears threatened the corners of my eyes. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to throw myself into his arms. But there was more to this story, and I had to hear it.

"So what happened? She's your ex, right?" I managed to say. "Why'd you break up?"

Nick released a deep sigh, rubbing his face with his hand. "I screwed up," he admitted. "I let her down. A stupid, stupid mistake that I'll never forgive myself for. I failed her, and something horrible happened because of it. And no matter what I did after that, I could never get her to forgive me." He shook his head. "Not that I blame her. I probably wouldn't have forgiven me either."

"What happened?" I asked, barely able to breathe. I couldn't believe I would finally find out, firsthand, the whole story. Even if it was disguised as a World War I soap opera.

"It doesn't matter, does it?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "It was a long time ago." He reached up to touch his eye with the back of his hand. I stared at him. Was that a tear he was brushing away? Was strong, arrogant, alpha Nick the Prick actually shedding a tear over me? I couldn't believe it.

Part of me wanted to press him. To find out exactly what went down. Why he had betrayed me and then let me rot in prison while he partied with another girl. But another part, a weaker, more vulnerable part, still wasn't quite sure I was ready to know.

"Anyway, why don't you try to get a little rest?" he said gently, obviously wanting to change the subject. "You'll feel better in the morning."